Somewhat Compromising
by whoriartywrites
Summary: Sherlock yells for John. He's gotten himself stuck in a compromising position.


Title: Somewhat Compromising  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairings: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes  
Summary: Sherlock yells for John. He's gotten himself stuck in a compromising position.  
Warnings: Pre-slash, bondage  
Notes: For those unfamiliar with the items mentioned in the story (and thinking, perhaps, with considerable fear, about meathooks), here are a few links. The hook (As SFW as any anal hook could be): ** Kink-Industries-The-Anal-Hook/dp/B003AYTI4W**.

"John? JOHN!"

He had just entered the flat, so Sherlock must have been listening for him on the stairs. John toted a sack of groceries and the mail for the two of them. Ignoring Sherlock's demand, he put the sack down on the table and started sorting through the mail.

"A little help?" Sherlock's voice had a curious quality that made John's ears perk up.

"What is it?" He shouted. There was a low buzz coming from somewhere in the flat.

There was a rattle from Sherlock's room, and the buzzing temporarily got louder. "I could_really_ use your help in here, John. _Really._"

John put down the mail, cocking his head.

"Please?" The last came out as a croak. John ran through the flat.

He tried the knob. It was locked. "How am I supposed to get in?"

"Break it down." Sherlock said flatly from behind the door. His voice…John couldn't place where he was in the room, but the buzzing was definitely coming from there.

"Break it…Sherlock, are you in danger? Let me call the police…" John pulled out his cellphone.

"No, no, god no. Hurry, though, John." Sherlock's voice, steadiest in the most difficult situations, rose and dropped an octave during that sentence.

John put his shoulder to the door.

One hit, two hits, his wound aching just a little, and the third brought down the door.

John gasped at the tableau in front of him, staggering back against the door frame. "What…I…what?"

"Hmm," Sherlock told him. "Yes, I could see how this might be compromising. You see, John, I got a call from Detective Lestrade today… a new case."

"I…"John gasped. "A case…?"

"Yes." Sherlock explained, surprisingly reasonable for a man who was upside-down. "A death. They thought it was accidental, self-bondage. I'm not so sure."

Sherlock's hands were handcuffed behind his back. A line wrapped several times around his chest, then to the ceiling.

"I've seen several self-bondage deaths…I think they must have a running bet whether or not I might become flustered."

His legs were tied ankle to thigh separately, the muscles straining against the multi-colored climbing rope he used. They were well above his head.

"Only, this one was unusual. He was suspended, for one, and for two…well…the hook."

The line that went up to the ceiling from his chest wrapped round a pulley and down. John could only see the end of a shiny metal…something. Judging by its location, it could only be held in place by…

"The anal hook was attached to a strong vibration. They suggested the victim became over-whelmed with pleasure, and then passed out from the pressure around his chest."

The buzzing sound was a vibration. Judging by the tiny little jiggle in Sherlock's hips and his…

John gasped for air, having not taken a breath in several minutes. "What? Why in the…I…"

Sherlock crooked an eyebrow, the motion significantly less effective given the blindfold and the fact that his face was astoundingly red from being upside-down for god knows how long. His arse was in the air, a few lines around his waist, his bony knees nearly touching the duvet. Bent at the middle, his face was on the level with his knees.

"Why do you have to be naked?" John blurted out.

Sherlock tipped himself forward somehow, his head lowering as his arse rose further into the air, the pulley squeaking slightly. "For the experiment. I could hardly put in the hook while dressed, now could I?"

John rubbed his eyes. "And you're…"

"Stuck. Quite so."

The sight of Sherlock, blindfolded, hanging from the ceiling, blindfolded, the hook buzzing happily away in his backside, was too much for John.

A high-pitched hysterical giggle escaped. Then another. Then he collapsed into great guffaws.

Sherlock tilted again, his arse dipping lower, knees planted on the bed. John could see more of his face, and the look of impatience and fury only heightened the humor.

Rubbing tears from his eyes, gasping for breath, John pulled out his cell phone.

"You wouldn't dare." Sherlock warned.

"I haven't even pressed any buttons…how did you…?"

"You wouldn't dare or else I'll post that video of you at karaoke on your blog." Sherlock told him darkly.

"Fine, fine." John tossed the camera on the bed near Sherlock's face. Then John took two steps closer to the bed. "What exactly do you need from me again?"

Sherlock growled, "Cut me down!"

John noticed the paramedic scissors on the side table next to some extra rope. "How can you not get yourself down?"

The dark-haired man rattled the wrist cuffs. "My timed-lock failed."

John examined the lock, trying very hard not to notice how graceful Sherlock's hands looked tied together, brushing the small of his back. He tried especially hard not to notice that less than a foot from the hands, the hook was buried into his flat mate's arse.

But Sherlock had taught John a lot in the nine months of their association, and so John couldn't ignore the evidence that Sherlock had cum on the sheets…at least twice.

"How long have you been like this?" He'd been at the clinic since 9, but surely…

"About eight hours" Sherlock admitted wryly. "I expected to be freed about 6 hours ago."

The doctor surveyed the scene (Don't look at his arse. Don't imagine his arse clenching against the metal intruder…) the chest and arse must be fully uncomfortable, but he was most worried about the way Sherlock's legs were tied. He must entirely have lost feeling hours ago.

John's hands went to the knots. They were tight, no doubt tightened by Sherlock's firm grip to make certain he could recreate the scene entirely. It took him a minute to untie the first leg, and he worked in silence. Finally, the first rope came off, and he straightened the lanky man's leg, slowly. John massaged the long muscles, which were knotted and undoubtedly cramping. He tickled Sherlock's foot.

Sherlock wriggled in his bindings, causing his head to tip back towards the ceiling, putting more of his weight on the hook. The taller man moaned, tugging his foot out of John's reach. "Yes, I still have feeling in the foot. Can you get on with it, please?"

John crossed to the other side of the bed, smirking at the utter outrage on Sherlock's still blindfolded face. As he set to work on the second leg, he had to climb onto the bed on his knees. He tried not to look at the raised arse at his eye level, focusing professionally on the bound leg. "Who would do this for fun?"

"A masochist." Sherlock answered. "Or maybe just a particularly creative pervert."

John raised his eyebrows. "And why did you do this again?"

"Science, John! I had to see whether I would either pass out in pleasure or live."

"You lived, clearly?" He freed the second leg, his steady hands smoothing down the muscles from thigh to ankle. Sherlock immediately got both legs under him, raising his body weight onto his legs rather than via the pulley system. The tall man attempted to stand fully on the bed. John put a bracing hand on his partner's lower back before Sherlock straightened his head into the pulley on the ceiling. "Sit back down and let me finish untying you, idiot."

"I have to text Lestrade and tell him it was a murder, John. Obviously, the masochist had an assistant that ensured the man never saw the light of day again…Ooh." As he leaned back down, the hook, its attached vibrator still buzzing away, must have hit a sensitive spot.

Despite the still damp evidence on the sheets, Sherlock's cock twitched and started to fill. John looked away.

"Let's get these cuffs off, shall we? Where's the key." He asked.

"They're time-release, I told you." Sherlock tried to keep a steady voice but the smoky growl was not at all steady. "Take off the damned blindfold."

John stood on the bed in his stocking feet, his head a few inches shy of the ceiling, and walked around to the other man's head. He removed the silk cloth from those grey-green eyes that squinted against the sunset light coming in around his light-blocking shades. Those same eyes widened as they were greeted by John Watson's crotch. The other man was oblivious, studying the pulley mechanism.

John moved around to attempt to untie Sherlock's chest. "Where's the end of the rope?"

"The bight's around my chest, John, the only ends are at…the other end." Sherlock's voice was strained. "Unhook that first."

John blushed furiously as he moved to Sherlock's hips. The ropes that supported them took most of the weight, but the ends of the line were clearly around the hook. John held his hands behind his head. "What should I…?"

Sherlock sighed, his frustration at dealing with lesser mortals evident even in his compromised position. "Unhook it, untie it, and then untie all the ropes."

The doctor took a deep breath, summoned all of his professionalism, and tugged at the metal hook. Sherlock moaned, low in his throat.

"Pull it up, then out, John, don't just tug on it!"

"Oh, erm, right." John tried again, tugging upwards on the handle. The hook didn't budge, but Sherlock's hips thrust forward into the air. John pulled his hands back as though burned.

"Try holding it closer, John, and for god's sake, get it over with!" Sherlock's voice was breathy and rough.

John took a hold of the hook again, determined to get it right before anything more embarrassing happened. He gave it a tug, and this time realized that Sherlock need to be in a slightly different position. The buzzing of the hook made everything much more awkward. Sherlock's bollocks were swaying back and forth as John tugged on the hook. The blond wrapped and arm under Sherlock's hips, trying very hard to ignore the hard, naked flesh he felt through the sleeve of his jumper, and hoisted Sherlock's back end up several inches. At the same time, he maneuvered the hook.

"Mmph!" Sherlock moaned, his face in his hands .

The ball of the hook came out with an audible pop. It was several sizes larger than John would have imagined. Sherlock's hole puckered closed as the intruder left. John bit his lip.

John wasn't getting hard. He was a doctor treating a patient. He was a consultant for a consulting detective helping on a case. He was an utterly straight man who enjoyed breasts, breasts, missionary style sex, and more breasts. His cock was straining against the fly of his corduroys, so hard it hurt.

Sherlock was trying to look at his flat mate over his shoulder. John stead-fastly ignored that unsettling gaze as he untied the hook, turning off it's vibration feature and dropping it on the bed. He began to unwrap the lines around the thin man's waist. The imprints of the rope stood out sharply against the pale, pale skin. John's fingertips traced the marks as he unwrapped row upon row.

He finished untying that thin waist, and held Sherlock's hips with one hand as he lowered the other man to the bed.

Free from the pulley, Sherlock collapsed onto the bed entirely, lying on his stomach. The rope slid through the pulley and fell onto the bed near his chest. He sucked in great gasps of air as most of the pressure around his chest was released.

"John." No one had ever said his name like that before. "John, you'll have to let pressure off my chest slowly, or I may pass out."

"Sit up, then." John told him, his own voice sounding strange. He felt his cheeks burning, though Sherlock could hardly tease him for that. The other man's face was burning, his eyes fever bright as he rolled onto his back and then sat up, his long legs stretched towards the pillows. The two were face to face, but John kept his eyes on the ropes around Sherlock's chest.

The dark-haired man's face was too close, his breath hot against John's face. John glanced down, to avoid that pale gaze, but then the other man's cock demanded John's attention, hard and leaving a trail of pre-cum along his pale thigh. John kept his eyes on the ropes.

Carefully, slowly, he unwound them. The imprints of the lines would likely stay for a few days, marring that perfect porcelain skin. His nipples had been wrapped, and John's thumbs slid over them gently. Sherlock's flesh stiffened under his fingers, and bit his lip. He slid around behind Sherlock's back, his legs around him (but not touching), as he undid the last of the wraps. As he unwound the rope, his arms took their place.

They sat that way for several moments, John's arms tight around Sherlock's ribs, his face against the other man's shoulders. Sherlock's heart was racing in his chest though his breaths were shallow. The dark-haired man's hands were still bound behind him, pressing against John's thigh.

John loosened his grip only slightly. His hands felt sweaty. Sherlock's bound hands were moving, slightly, just enough that the backs of them brushed against the bulge in his savior's pants. John's breath hitched and it was all he could do not to either run away or jump the still-bound Sherlock. The image of the pale man's exposed arse puckering after the hook came out flickered behind John's eyelids, and he rested his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder, slightly ashamed and hard enough that he'd soaked a small wet spot in his pants.

Sherlock's hands shifted just a tiny bit, and John knew he could feel the area of pre-cum.

"How are you planning on getting out of those cuffs?" He asked the other man softly, speaking near his ear.

"What?" Sherlock's voice was dreamy.

John loosened his grip further still. "I asked how you're planning on getting out of those cuffs."

"Oh, the cuffs? I …" Sherlock's train of thought was clearly distracted. He nodded at the bedside table "Over there."

On top of a stack of books and teacups was a single key with a leather keychain.

"You mean you could have… I could have just unlocked you and you could have untied yourself?" John let go of Sherlock's chest and stepped away from the bed.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John, his bare back flexing, and grinned that enigmatic grin.

John smacked his flat-mate on the back of the head and stomped up to his room, slamming the door, immediately reaching to take a hold of his throbbing erection, bringing himself off even before he heard Sherlock unlock the cuffs.

On a final note, I saw a very similar story was posted as I was working on this over at Archive of Our Own. Hers is less graphic (but more domly John!) and definitely worth a read. /works/2900

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